


Flowers in the Fall

by leet911



Series: Flowers from the Tempest [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Keyasha, Not Canon Compliant, Rumblecusp never happened, Spoilers, Yashleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leet911/pseuds/leet911
Summary: Yasha knows that Keyleth cheats the seasons, just a little bit.  Neither of them wants the summer to end, and Keyleth can do a lot with her magic.
Relationships: Keyleth/Yasha (Critical Role)
Series: Flowers from the Tempest [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078217
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	Flowers in the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel of sorts to Flowers from the Tempest. Would recommend reading that first (you know, the only other Keyleth/Yasha fic).
> 
> I started writing this in March, but never managed to finish it until now. It's been a tough 2020. In the meantime, lots of stuff has happened on Critical Role, not the least of which was the whole Rumblecusp and TraverlerCon arc which definitely throws a wrench in my self-indulgent crack ship. But I'm not going to let a little thing like canon stop me.

* * *

Yasha knows that Keyleth cheats the seasons, just a little bit. Because even though it is well into autumn, there are still flowers blooming in this field. The leaves have changed, and the northern winds already carry the promise of winter, but summer blossoms are what they associate with their connection, so Keyleth’s magic pushes back against the inevitable tide of the seasons. Summer is when they became friends, bared their grief to each other, and let the storms wash it away.

With a wave from the druid, the tree above them sprouts a few more leaves and a pure white flower, as fresh as the first day of spring. It won’t last of course, Yasha knows this, but she likes the flowers. And Keyleth is here, right next to her, leaning against the same tree trunk, crafting plants all around, while Yasha strums scales absently on her harp.

Despite the rushing winds, it is not cold. Yasha thinks that’s also because of Keyleth, but she hasn’t yet found the right words to ask. This is Xhorhas after all, and there is no way it’s this warm this late in the year. And Yasha isn’t even sure what they are to each other. She only knows that Keyleth visits often nowadays, that they sit in this meadow (their meadow), and that Keyleth doesn’t hide inside a tiger anymore. Sometimes Yasha plays music, and sometimes Keyleth weaves powerful magic; but mostly they sit and talk about stupid things. They talk about flowers and friends, and fate and fighting, and days gone by and dreams about forever.

It’s only been a few weeks, and they’ve spoken – truly spoken – only a handful of times. And they’ve never seen each other anywhere besides here, in this field. And Yasha isn't sure if she's allowed to ask, but she does anyway. “Where do you go when you leave this place?"

Because this is Yasha’s spot, this little patch of Xhorhas that Keyleth has made beautiful. This was Yasha’s spot even before Keyleth. But she wonders if Keyleth does this for herself too, if she lets herself have beauty and wonder on her own sometimes.

The druid stands, holds out her hand. "Come with me." She recites the words to a spell, her eyes flare with power, and the tree before them splits open like a tunnel.

Yasha looks up at the redhead, takes the outstretched hand.

They step through, Yasha first and Keyleth following close behind. It’s early morning on the other side, the rising sun framing a collection of huts and houses nearby. The air feels thin, like they are up in the mountains. There is movement in the village, but in this clearing there is only an empty fire pit and no one else around.

“This is Zephrah, my birthplace,” Keyleth says, gesturing towards the village. “And this is the Raven Tree.” She points behind them.

There is a tree where they emerged, nearly empty of leaves, with a large raven perched in it. As Yasha watches, another raven arrives, then another, and another, until it is an entire flock of birds gawking at them. There are so many ravens Yasha is afraid the branches will break and the tree will collapse.

The ravens are quiet, only the rustle of wings and their heads turning as they eye the two women. Yasha tenses, nervous, because she doesn't understand how there can be so many birds here, even if this is called the Raven Tree. Keyleth holds her hand tight though, and Keyleth doesn't seem concerned, even if there are tears streaming down her face.

As one, the ravens shriek, a deafening cry that shatters the dawn. Then they flee in a giant beating of wings, scattering in all directions, until there is only a single raven left. The largest raven, the first one that Yasha saw, remains looking at Keyleth, questioning. Yasha doesn't understand, but she's not a druid, and she knows Keyleth has a connection with animals. They stand side by side in the morning light, and Yasha feels like she’s being judged; the two of them holding hands in front of the Raven Tree. The large bird flutters to a lower branch, caws twice. Keyleth seems to be answering the raven's gaze with a teary one of her own.

The antlers bob up and down as Keyleth nods, and Yasha can almost swear she sees the raven nod back. Then the bird opens its wings and flies off into the rising sun.

Keyleth is trembling, palms sweaty where her hand touches Yasha's.

"What just happened?" The aasimar asks.

“I lost someone too, a long time ago.”

And Yasha thinks she understands that, the guilt and uncertainty and _am I even allowed to do this?_ Because that felt almost like asking for permission. She doesn't know Keyleth's story, not fully, but her own heart screams just as loud sometimes when she looks at her scrapbook full of flowers. Neither of them has a reason to feel guilty about this, not for real, but emotions don’t always make sense. Yasha’s grief is still tied up with memories of impotence and inadequacy.

Keyleth's loss seems like it was longer ago. But also much more powerful, linked to the magic of this place, and this tree, and maybe even the ravens. Keyleth has never mentioned it before.

And Yasha isn’t one to pry, so they are silent for a long moment before Keyleth continues. "Vax was a champion of the Raven Queen. He traded his soul for this world."

Yasha doesn’t know exactly what that means, but she does know anguish and sorrow and regret, and that those things do fade, that having friends helps, and maybe Keyleth is the one that showed her they’re allowed to move on, even if it doesn’t feel that way.

So Yasha puts her arms around Keyleth, wraps the druid in a hug, and holds the Voice of the Tempest close.

When Keyleth composes herself a few minutes later, she draws up to her full height, and Yasha can see she deserves to be leader among her people. Keyleth is powerful, vulnerable, empathetic. She is strong and beautiful and everything Yasha wishes she could be.

They don’t go into the village that day, because Yasha is far too nervous to meet anyone. Jumping across Exandria also changed the time of day. It is evening in Xhorhas, but morning here. Seeing the sun climb the sky again makes Yasha feel like they were up all night. And Keyleth has a house in the village of course, but she also has lots of hideouts in the mountainside, lots of private spots that are hers alone. She takes Yasha to one of them, an isolated copse of trees overlooking a cliff. Beneath them, the valley is a panorama of autumn colours, bursts of red and gold punctuated with swaths of evergreens.

Keyleth fits right into the scene, her mantle blending with the colours below. She looks regal to Yasha, standing atop the cliff with her staff and circlet, surveying the mountain like some benevolent protector. This is how Yasha thinks of her, some mystical spirit of nature, attuned to the land. Maybe that's why Keyleth is different in Xhorhas, away from this place. In their little field, it's just them, and their blooms. Here, she still has the weight of responsibility nearby.

She is pensive for a moment, and her profile shows her resolve. Then she turns to Yasha and her face softens. When she speaks, it is almost shy. "Do you want to stay for a bit? Or I could send you back home if you want."

This seems meaningful to Yasha, portentous. She knows why Keyleth is hesitant. They’ve never done this before. And it’s not nighttime, but this feels like she's being asked to spend the night.

They never talk about spending time together, it's just something they do. They don't arrange to meet, they just show up at the same place all the time, and the day passes. They don't make plans, they don't do activities or dates. They talk, and bask in each other's company. Yasha never asks for more. She's not sure she's supposed to. And the power is in Keyleth's hands anyway. Keyleth is the one who comes and goes as she pleases.

So this is new. This is not neutral ground. This is Keyleth's homeland.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Yes," with a dip of her staff the trees fold out around them, cocooning them in this spot and shutting out the world beyond the view of the valley below.

Keyleth sits, shifts her mantle so that they are touching arms, skin to skin. Yasha shivers, not from the cold. She's touched Minxie so many times, nuzzled the white fur, but that didn't seem like it was Keyleth then. This is warm skin against her, a thin smooth arm beside her sturdier one. Yasha knows their strength is different. She knows the druid’s humanoid body is not indicative of her true power.

Without words, they lean against each other for a long time, breathing quietly, until Keyleth turns and kisses Yasha on the temple. Yasha holds her breath, waits for Keyleth to take the next step, but none comes. Keyleth is always the one with the initiative, always careful not to overstep boundaries. Except that first time. Yasha wonders exactly what happened in Keyleth’s past.

So Yasha takes the leap instead, holds Keyleth's chin in place so they can kiss properly. When their lips touch, Keyleth melts against her and the kisses don't stop. Maybe they both need this.

They break apart many minutes later gasping for breath. Yasha thinks she can smell their excitement in this grove. Keyleth looks away, embarrassed.

She conjures a gentle breeze, to cool them off and clear the air. To further distract them, Keyleth fashions a harp out of magic, crafted from wood and animal hair, a gnarled viny affair with little flowers adorning it.

"Can you play something? Anything?"

Yasha understands wanting company but not wanting to talk, looking to fill the silence. She thought Keyleth knew they were past that. That it's fine to sit in silence and just be together, to feel and process your own experience without holding back, without being alone.

Yasha understands, but she plays for Keyleth anyway. So she plays something faster, with energy, and hopefully uplifting. Maybe this is more her usual fare, but not to Keyleth. These aren't the haunting melancholic melodies Keyleth has heard before. This also isn't Yasha’s harp, but she pushes through the unfamiliarity. If it's less than stellar, Keyleth doesn't show it, she just drapes herself around Yasha and lets the music carry her.

When the song ends, Keyleth smiles into Yasha's shoulder. "That was really nice."

"My friends used to joke about starting a metal band where I could play the rock harp. Yasha and the Orphanmakers, we were going to call it."

Keyleth laughs at that, the image of Yasha jumping around on a stage, harp in hand, hair flailing around wildly as loud music echoes beneath the moonlight. She can picture it in her mind. She glances at Yasha, catches her eye and the end of a smirk.

“I would love to see Yasha and the Orphanmakers perform.” Keyleth wraps her mantle around them like a blanket, lets out a long sigh. She feels happy here, content in a way she hasn't felt in quite some time. Keyleth looks skyward, and there is not a single raven nearby. And she strains to hear their caws, but there are none of those either.

Yasha too, looks for the storm clouds that always follow her, but the sky is blissfully clear today. There is only the sun, shining down on them and the canopy of colours below. This is not the doing of Keyleth’s magic.

This is just Keyleth.

* * *


End file.
